


The Cut of his Jib

by SweetSorcery



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: 1800s, 19th Century, Age of Sail, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Obsessive Behavior, Slash, Stalking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: The trouble with Styles...





	The Cut of his Jib

**Author's Note:**

> Just another old story not yet archived here, and a rather silly one, at that. :)

"Captain!" First Lieutenant Bush came hurrying down the deck of the Retribution, his eyes darting back over his shoulder repeatedly as though he was being followed.

"Mister Bush." Horatio smirked. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Bush came to an abrupt halt, doing his best to regain his composure. "No trouble, Captain." He glanced back once more, and Horatio saw that Styles and Matthews were standing by the railing, grinning in their direction.

"Styles again?" Horatio asked quietly.

"I fear so." Bush managed to look most composed, aided, as usual, by the even, deep tone of his voice. His eyes however showed no small degree of anxiety.

"Would you like me to talk to him?" Horatio managed to say in all seriousness.

"Heavens, no!" Bush exclaimed in alarm. He cleared his throat. "That would make matters infinitely worse, Captain. But thank you for the offer." Horatio grinned, to Bush's great horror. "You find this amusing?"

"You have to admit--"

Bush was not about to admit anything. "I fail to see the humour in the situation, Captain. Certainly there is none from my point of view."

Horatio smiled. "And here I thought you, sir, possessed a most impressive sense of humour."

Bush's jaw dropped at the unexpected compliment. Then he leaned towards Horatio, whispering, "Admit it, Captain, that you would find the situation more than a little uncomfortable, were it you he was... um..."

"I fear I have already been in the situation, Lieutenant Bush."

"You have." Bush looked more alarmed than ever. "Dear Lord!"

Horatio nodded. "In my early days aboard the _Indefatigable_." He smiled wistfully. "Fate intervened then."

Bush frowned at his captain's dreamy, far-away look.

A moment later, Horatio was himself again, grinning. "You begin to see why your posting to this ship is such a marvellous thing for me?"

Bush glared at him. "Oh, wonderful."

Horatio laughed and quickly busied himself with his telescope, hoping he had done so in time before Bush could realise there was more to his delight at the posting than that. He expected that Edward had known it the moment he had laid eyes on him again. And on Bush.

~ ~ ~

First Lieutenant Bush spent much of his shift pondering Horatio's words. _Fate intervened_... what had he meant by that?

 _Indefatigable_ \- Commodore Pellew's ship. Or rather, Captain Pellew then. He thought he had noticed more than mutual respect in the eyes of his own captain and the commodore when he had seen them together, but he had attempted not to give it too much thought. For his own sake.

Bush wanted to ask Hornblower, but he thought that perhaps the captain might think he was making too much out of this. Not to mention he might cause offence by prying into his past like that. No, not yet. Perhaps once they got to know each other better.

'Besides,' Bush thought. 'More than likely, Styles will soon find something - or someone - else to occupy himself with. Pray to God, he will!'

~ ~ ~

The Almighty was not on Mister Bush's side.

Styles was nothing if not determined. And when he embarked on a mission, he threw himself into it heart and soul. Never mind Matthews laughing at him and calling him a damn fool.

"I'm not!" Styles protested, angrily swinging in his hammock.

Matthews smirked over at him from his own. "You are, Styles. And if ye don't figure it out soon, you'll be swinging from the yardarm." He snorted. "Though I expect throwing you overboard would do a better job cooling ye down."

Styles glared. "He'll get 'round to it, Matthews. Mark me words. He'll get 'round to it." And he swung out of his hammock and walked away, hearing Matthews still laughing at him.

"I wouldn't half be surprised, Styles, but not with you, he won't!"

Up on deck, Styles promptly bumped into the very object of his thoughts. "Mister Bush, sir! Sorry, sir!" He grabbed the first lieutenant's shoulders and steadied him on his feet. "You all right, sir?"

Bush's eyes widened in alarm, and he struggled free from the sturdy seaman's grasp. "Yes, Styles, I am quite well." When Styles kept holding on, he glared at him. "Styles!"

"Sorry, sir." Reluctantly, Styles let go and took a step back, hanging his head sheepishly. "Just wantin' to make sure I didn't injure you, that's all, sir."

Bush straightened his cravat and put a bit more distance between them. "I assure you, I am quite well."

"Sir." Styles stepped aside, allowing Bush to pass by him, but not without taking a little liberty as he did so.

Bush turned abruptly to find Styles looking at once guilty and foolishly pleased with himself. "Styles, did you just..."

"Sir?" Styles was as red as a beet, but still managed to make his face go blank to the point of complete stupidity.

Bush swallowed. "Never mind. Carry on." When Styles grinned, he quickly added, "With your duties, Styles."

"Aye aye, sir." Styles sighed, saluted, and shuffled away.

Bush hurried off, deciding to take a detour via the captain's cabin. Something had to be done. And quickly. If it were not so embarrassing, he would call the Articles of War to Styles' mind but, frankly, he was not at all certain which one of them applied here. Why him?

"Why me?" he exclaimed, just as the captain opened his door to admit him.

Horatio smiled. "What did he do now, Lieutenant Bush?"

Bush gave him a wide-eyed stare and sighed deeply. "Save me, Captain. Please!"

~ ~ ~

"He did what?" Horatio had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. It wouldn't be at all fair to do so, considering in how much distress his first officer was.

"Pinched me!" Bush all but shrieked. "He pinched me, damn him!"

Horatio turned his back to Bush for a moment, having to compose himself. When he turned around again, his face was once more unreadable. "Yes, I do agree that something must be done about it."

Bush sat down with a sigh. "Most certainly."

Horatio raised his hand, signaling for Bush to wait a moment. He walked to the door and opened it, calling out to the nearest crewman who was busy rolling up some sail a few yards away. "You there, Rogers. Go tell the bosun I want to see him in my cabin immediately."

"Aye aye, Captain." The crewman dropped what he was doing and left.

When Horatio went back inside, he found his first mate giving him a curious look. "Matthews has a lot of influence on Styles. He is quite a diplomat."

Bush nodded. "A wise man. I gathered as much."

Horatio smiled. "I trust you have no wish to make an official complaint about Styles, considering..."

"Oh, no, certainly not." Bush frowned. "I have no wish to see the man dead. I merely wish for him to leave me alone, Captain."

Horatio nodded. "That is what I thought. Besides..."

"Besides?" Bush looked at him in confusion.

Horatio smiled. "It is in part your fault, Mister Bush. From what I've heard, you may have encouraged him initially, at the fort..."

Bush's jaw dropped. "I have done no such thing! Captain, I must protest, I--"

There was a knock on the door, and Horatio called out, "Enter."

Matthews appeared in the doorway. "You wanted to see me, Captain?" He spotted the First Lieutenant inside the cabin, and he had a bad feeling he knew what this was all about.

"Indeed, Matthews." Horatio reached past the man to close the door. There was no need to let anyone else overhear.

"Captain. Mr Bush." Matthews shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Sorry about Styles. I just don't know what to do about him, sir. He's never been this bad."

Horatio nodded. "You see how intolerable the situation is for Lieutenant Bush, Matthews?"

"That I do, Captain!" Matthews nodded vigorously. "And I tried tellin' Styles what a blasted fool he is. If ye pardon the expression, gents."

"Quite." Bush laid his hat down on the table.

Horatio pursed his lips, and his smooth forehead creased into a frown of concentration as he paced up and down for a moment. Finally, he looked at Matthews patiently waiting by the door.

"Matthews, can you at least help us shed some light on this?"

"Wish I could, Captain." Matthews looked quite distressed.

"Is it the lieutenant's rank?" Horatio attempted, watching Bush go deep red and realising he was rather enjoying watching his habitually unruffled first officer get more ruffled by the moment.

"I don't think so, Captain, seeing how at first you..." Matthews cleared his throat. "You were still a Midshipman when we first served on the _Indefatigable_ , sir."

"Hmm yes, that is true." Horatio continued to pace. Finally, he stopped to gaze at Bush, who looked as though he was seated on a pin cushion. "What else do we have in common, Matthews? Lieutenant Bush and myself, I mean?"

"Well, Captain..." Matthews' lips quirked into a smile as he assessed the two gentlemen in question. However, not wanting to alarm them further, considering how efficiently Styles was already doing that, he grew serious again. "I wouldn't know, Captain Hornblower, sir." Then a sudden bolt of inspiration hit him. "The hair!"

Hornblower and Bush stared at him, then at each other.

Matthews got flustered. "I think it might be the hair, gents."

For a moment, everyone remained silent.

"Surely you are jesting, Mr Matthews." Bush shook his head in denial.

Horatio, however, considered the thought. "There may be something in this."

Bush looked up at him the next time Horatio passed by his chair. "I cannot wait until my hair goes grey, Captain."

Horatio smirked.

Matthews piped in. "I don't think it's just the colour, Mister Bush. Might be them curls, too."

Horatio finally laughed out loud.

"This really is not amusing, Captain!" Bush exclaimed in horror, his voice taking an unprecedented detour via near panic, as he mentally visualised seaman Styles haunting him for the rest of his career.

"My apologies, Mister Bush," Horatio said softly.

He turned to the bosun. "Thank you, Mister Matthews. Perhaps you have helped us after all."

"Captain." Matthews gave a casual salute. "Mister Bush. Very sorry, sir." He waited for Bush's nod and then left.

"What now?" Bush asked with a sigh, the moment the door had closed behind Matthews.

"Now, we must deter Styles in some way," Horatio declared, a plan forming in his quick, inventive and somewhat mischievous mind.

"I am open to suggestions, Captain." Bush sank against the back of his chair. "Not to mention desperate."

~ ~ ~

Styles came on deck the next day whistling a cheerful tune, which died in his throat the moment he caught sight of the captain and first officer of the Retribution. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out what disturbed him so about the way they were standing at the ship's stern.

Hornblower stood in the very same pose he had once adopted from Captain Pellew, his hands folded behind his back, his long, slender legs a step apart, bracing himself against the stiff breeze like a rock amidst stormy waves.

Mister Bush stood by his side, imitating the pose subtly. The classic lines of his face were mostly hidden in the shadow of his hat, which he had pulled forward far over his forehead, so that only his determined chin and the wave-like sweep of his mouth were visible beneath. His face - like the captain's - were framed by the soft flow of dark brown curls loosely tied in a queue.

They stood like that, side by side, but so close that they formed an impenetrable fort, the way Captain Pellew and Mister Hornblower had done so often.

Styles clutched his hand to his heart and sighed. Everything about the two men's pose told him that there was no room for him. Matthews had been right, of course. How could he ever hope to... His comfort was that he could wish nothing better for either Captain Hornblower or Mister Bush. They complemented each other very well.

~ ~ ~

"It worked," Horatio murmured when he saw Styles retreat along the ship.

Bush barely turned his head, as per the instructions issued to him by the captain. "It did?"

"Oh yes."

Bush frowned unseen beneath the brim of his hat. "You must tell me what exactly it is that worked, Captain. I am dying to know."

Horatio smiled. "If you will join me for a glass of port in my quarters after dinner this evening, Mister Bush, I shall."

"Looking forward to it, Captain." Bush gave Hornblower a curious sideways glance. Had he imagined the teasing tone in which the invitation had been issued? He rather hoped not.

~ ~ ~

"I hate when you're right," Styles moaned as soon as he was within earshot of his best mate.

Matthews faced him and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "Sorry, Styles."

Styles sighed and turned to look across to the main mast, where he spotted Wellard, climbing aloft. "He's mended quick, that lad," he said, smiling.

Matthews was about to agree, when he caught on to the smile. "Oh no, ye don't, Styles!"

Styles' eyes kept following the slender form up the ropes.

"Besides... Wellard has no curls."

Styles grinned at Matthews. "True enough. But he's got the prettiest freckles I've ever seen."

Matthews groaned, about to list every reason he could think of - and he could think of a lot of them - why Wellard was entirely out of bounds for Styles. Just then, the best reason of all presented itself.

"Hey, look there, Styles! You're too late." Matthews hissed, punching Styles in the shoulder. When his friend grumbled a complaint, he pointed across the deck.

Another pair of eyes - usually rather frosty blue eyes, but currently warm with longing - were following Wellard up the ropes, assessing his progress with all the focus of one who thinks himself and his affections unobserved.

"Gawd, I hate Hobbs!" Styles growled.

Matthews only smiled.

  
  
 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> © and ™ of characters, locations, and some story lines - the estate of C. S. Forester, A & E and possibly other entities; this story was written solely for the entertainment of other fans; no profit is made and no harm or infringement intended.


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